All good things must come to an end. All bad things must start with a squash… No that’s not quite right, but it was true enough tonight.

We thought it was written in the stars, restaurant week in Portsmouth, what could be lovelier? We went to an amazing restaurant earlier this week, forgot to take pictures, but it was transformative. A life changing experience. So we had high hopes, naturally.

I’m not even sure what to do with this level of review. Should we even divulge the name? Let’s just give you a hint. It starts with D and ends with istrict.

We begin the evening with the squash appetizer, which is supposed to have something special in/around it. It is a little hard and very stringy. Its stringiness is then accentuated with some stringy greens. Very unforgettable, maybe even terrible, and we forgive and forget and move on to the main course.

This is what greets us.

Have you ever been stared down by a block of tofu? How about one block cut in half? There was very little trace of a flavor profile. And it was lying on a bed of squash (pumpkin) reminding us of how we no longer like squash, at least in this style. Throw some greens on top and call it a meal. Redeeming attribute? That tomato (garnish)? You see was roasted quite nicely actually.

We were laughing loudly about how bad the food was in the restaurant. Hopefully they didn’t hear, but maybe they should know. The waitress, (nice, nothing wrong there) asked us how it was, and my meal compatriot answered good. I was thinking that was too far from the truth to lie like that. Agreeing, said compatriot likened the meal to your college roommate who just barely moved on from ramen and boiling hot dogs to this meal they’re trying to impress the letters-on-the-butt-sweatpants-wearing-lady down the hall. But at least we got to compose our meal’s swan song on this communal wind instrument next to our table.

Just as we were preparing to vote with our dollars and never come back, we braced ourselves for dessert, and what might be awaiting our ever increasingly delicate appetites. Surprise… it was actually pleasant. Mousse was rather regular, not quite smooth, not quite textured, so not sure if they were meeting or missing the mark, but not caring too much, cause it’s mousee, and that shit’s delicious. Pumpkin whoopie pies were good, and a nice mulled cider beside it.

All in all though, bad form folks. Walking away it was noted that they seemed to transform dinner from a pleasurable experience to a utilitarian task.